Three Little Pigs
by spellwing777
Summary: Stephan King would like to tell you a bedtime story...
1. The Monster Borne

Again, a story started by the kinkmeme. Originally I never meant to fill it, as it already had, but then I read _Cujo _and was appropriately terrified. So, to share my monsters with you (don't you feel lucky?) I wrote this.

...And promptly realized it was never going to fit on the kinkmeme. Much like most horror stories, it has wildly spiraled out of control and consumed me.

* * *

Long ago, when the cities of today was a distant dream in the human psyche, evil came to a small settlement of cro magnon; as it often does, and has done since, plaguing his descendants, _homo sapiens_, and all his sentient relatives. The elf, the dwarf, and so many others, all suffer from that madness borne down to him from the common forefather, running through the family tree like wires to strangle the sons of man.

This monster raped and killed a young boy in the summer; and four more children in the winter. He was not a demon, a vampire, or ghoul from the haunted wastes. His name was Dogg, a skilled flintnapper with mental and sexual problems. He was discovered, of course; people could not keep secrets in such close, wall-less conditions, and had only gotten away with it as long as he did was the crowds purposeful ignorance and willingness to believe that such things didn't happen. And the crowd-when they lost their ignorance-became monsters themselves; out howling for blood, his blood.

He killed himself before they could catch him, by flinging himself into a river gorged with snow melt; which perhaps was just as well. There was a little disappointment in the bloodlust left unsated; but mostly there was relief. The body was interred under the site of what was to-in thousands of years-become the site of a quaint family house, but he lived on still. He lived on in the stories of well-meaning mothers, quieting their unruly children with the threat that Dogg-Dogg the knapper with his sharp flint knives-would come for them. And the children would look at the cave entrance hazy with smoke, half expecting to see the dim, grey shade of Dogg, daggers dripping with water and blood; his furs wet with the water of the river he'd drowned in.

There were nightmares, to be sure. All of mankind would have them, passed down the thousands of years by those frightened children. Dogg became the nameless thing with the teeth like daggers always chasing you, lurking under the bed, or in the closet. Because the man might die, but the monster never does.

The monster came to Perth again in the summer of 1367.


	2. Three Little Pigs Went to Market

Vic Trenton: There are no real monsters.  
Tad Trenton: Except for the one in my closet.

-'Cujo' Steven King.

* * *

The small towns along these traveling roads all had a uniform look to them. They all had an inn, a tavern, maybe a blacksmith. They were typically host to the farmer going to market, the tinsmith selling his wares. Of middling size and populated by average people, there was nothing remarkable about them and they were soon forgotten by the people that had passed through them. Rarely did they witness anything remarkable.

What was happening right now, though, could count as one of those rare moments.

Entreri grimaced in irritation. He was a man that was-justifiably-proud of avoiding attention until he wanted it; and right now he could feel the eyes of all the dimwitted country bumpkins riveted on him. Or, rather, his companion; for Jarlaxle, once again, displayed just how much of an antithesis he was to the word 'subtle'. From his enormous wide-brimmed hat (with its billowing feather) to his cloak flashing colors like a drug-induced madness, and the rings, bangles, bits and bobs of jewelry that flashed and twinkled he practically screamed 'look at me'.

Thankfully, though, it seemed the townsfolk were too busy being overawed to raise their torches and pitchforks. Once again, Jarlaxle had declined to wear the magical mask, and was striding along flaunting the fact that he was a drow. Entreri wished that, just once, they could get into a town and get out _without_ causing a stir but Jarlaxle was ever determined to draw everyone's attention. He swept right past the slack-jawed fools as if they were beneath his notice, and slipped into the inn.

Evan turned at the sound of the shop bell ringing, immediately throwing on a huge grin.

"Welcome friends, how may...I..." He stuttered to a stop, and could only stare at the drow.

"Two of your finest rooms." He purred.

"...Right." To his credit, he didn't turn them away immediately. "How...many nights?"

He grinned wider; pleased. That only served to make the man even more uneasy. "Two, for now. My companion and I will be leaving for Perth soon."

"Perth?" That snapped Evan out of his daze. "That town has been shut down for months; no one's heard anything from them."

"And we are here to find out why, my dear friend!" He put a hand over his heart. "I, Drizzt the noble ranger, will not rest until I do!"

Entreri barely stifled a groan.

"Drizzt?" He frowned.

"You've heard of him?" Jarlaxle beamed.

"No." This time Entreri smirked a little.

"I've _met _him."

That gave both of them pause.

"And I may be getting on in years, but I'll not be forgetting him. And you, sir, are nothing like him." The innkeeper narrowed his eyes. "I'll let that one slide, as I'm not about to refuse a customer; but you do any funny business and I'll call the real one over to deal with you."

"He's dead." Entreri snarled.

"I wouldn't put it past him to come back from the dead to get you then." He continued, unruffled. "Man killed a pack of owl-bears for us, and if half the stories are true it'd be wise to heed me."

"We will behave ourselves." Jarlaxle soothed, putting a restraining hand on Entreri's arm.

* * *

They strolled over to the church-a one room building with peeling white paint-for their next point of business. As they reached the steps, a man who been sitting on the bottom two sprang to his feet.

He was dressed in a simple traveler's cloak, and loose-fitting robes in browns and greens that blended well with the forest. He was past his middle years, hair white and grey and starting to thin, blue eyes bloodshot and watery. However, despite his age he seemed to be in good enough health; the movements were quick and sure, eyes darting from spot to spot with alert wariness.

"You've arrived." His voice crackled, like he wasn't used to using it.

"We have my good friend." Smiling winningly, he held out a hand to shake. As he understood it, it was a polite surface custom and he liked to make a good impression. "Jarlaxle and Entreri, at your service."

Apparently the man hadn't heard of the same custom. He gave the outstretched palm a look like one would give to a particularly large insect, and clenched his own hands into fists and tucked them close to his body. Jarlaxle withdrew the hand, unfazed.

"Judas." He muttered, and headed into the church.

"I foresee a _wonderful _friendship." Entreri hissed, voice dripping sarcasm.

"Oh, don't be so hard on the man." Jarlaxle followed after him. "Perhaps he will be friendlier in time."

Entreri wasn't so sure about that. The lord of this land that'd hired them-a fat, balding man that sweated constantly and smelled like rotten eggs-had warned them that their 'guide' was getting increasingly taciturn in his age. Entreri had the feeling that it had taken him a great deal of pleading to get the once-renowned scholar and mage to help them. Entreri had been reluctant to have the man along in the first place, but Jarlaxle had managed to convince him. The man had some uses; not only was he knowledgeable about magical phenomena he was a local to the area, and well knew the town they were about to attempt to contact. He was the one most likely to spot what was amiss in the area that was preventing anyone from contacting the townsfolk.

Entreri still didn't like him, however.

They entered the church, and the smell hit his nose making him sneeze and cough. It stank of mildew and rust, rotting wood and fungi; he could see in corners there were piles of white paint flakes and the soft, punky wood of the structure was exposed. There were pinholes of light in the ceiling, and could guess it leaked like a sieve when it rained. The church was a contrasting image of holiness and neglect, piety and decay.

_Much like religion itself; _He mused.

"Good morning, my sons!" The priest stepped forward. The man was dressed in clothes that befitted a farmer, not a man of any church; the only thing he wore that indicated him as such was a pedant bearing the symbol of his god. He was young, round-faced man in his early twenties, face full of beaming piety and naivety. Entreri hated him on sight.

"And a good morning to you as well!" Jarlaxle replied.

The man blinked incredulously. "Well now, it's been a while since I've had a guest in my church, much less someone this...out of the ordinary." He turned to Judas, giving him a wry smile. "You should've warned me; I would have set out the best china."

Judas only shuffled irritably on the spot. "Get on with it."

"Sorry; I was bit distracted." He continued to smile, not at all ruffled by the man's rudeness. "Let me introduce myself; I am father Peter, local priest of the area, for what it's worth. I'll be telling you of what little information I've gleaned from my prodding and poking about before you head off; hopefully it will help you."

"Thank you." Jarlaxle smiled. "What can you tell us?"

"It happened about three months ago; though it might have been going on longer. The first red flag was Nancy; usually she got regular letters from her nephews and cousins up there every other week or so, but they stopped coming. Her son rode up there to see what was up, but he didn't come back." He sighed. "More people went after him, and relatives of those that lived in that town also went to see why their cousins and the like had broken contact. None of them came back either."

"And did you investigate as well?" Jarlaxle asked.

"I did. But I couldn't see anything out of the ordinary." He paused, and a flash of concern disturbed the once-calm face. "But I did feel...a disturbance. I am a priest, yes, but my god is focused on healing, not sensing demons or evil. All the same, it felt..."

He struggled with the words to describe it; and as he was a doctor, he described it in terms he could best relate too.

"Like their was a fever, a sickness, hanging around the town. All around I could smell the faint sickly-sweet of it, but try as I might, I couldn't find the source. Not a single resident of that town was ill, their livestock were healthy. But still, I could feel the miasma hanging heavy in the air."

Their was a moment of intense silence, which Entreri broke; rudely.

"Anything _else _of use that you can tell us?"

"A few things." He continued, unaffected by Entreri. "After my experience, I blessed the road and blessed as much of the perimeter as I could to keep whatever it was from spreading out. I consulted with Asklepios*-my god-and he warned me to stay well away from the town, and to keep the villagers away from it as well. So I issued a quarantine of the town. They were not pleased with that, I can tell you, but they did listen."

Jarlaxle frowned. "Do they not listen to their priests around here?" In his experience, people were generally very obedient to their spiritual guides. In the underdark, disobeying edicts of Loth's priestesses was paramount to suicide. It was a foreign idea to him for people to defy the will of the priests.

"You may have noticed I am not as..._welcome _as most priests are in other towns. The people here have their own set of superstitions and rituals; they don't worship any actual god or goddess." He smiled wearily at them. "They are very set in the practices of their forefathers; reluctant to change. We had to build the church ourselves; back then there were ten of us that moved here to 'bring the good word' as it was. The others settled down, married and gradually withdrew from the church; my father was the only one who didn't. I'm carrying on his work, now that he's passed on."

"Fascinating." Entreri grunted. "What else?"

"Just this." He fumbled in a pocket, stepping towards them.

He pulled out three small stones, with his holy symbol painted on them. "Granted, they're not impressive, but they'll serve a purpose. I've laid a blessing on these stones, one of protection. No grantee that whatever it is won't be able to hurt you, I had to make the blessing vague because I didn't know what I was up against."

Jarlaxle took them, giving his thanks.

"And now, if you don't mind, I'll bless all of you for added-"

"No."

Peter gave Entreri a concerned look. "Look, I gather from your open hostility of me and my church that you aren't fond of my beliefs, but be _reasonable. _This blessing will keep evil spirits at bay-"

"I do not need some god's protection." He spat. "That is what I have my weapons and years of training for, _priest._"

"But if you die," He pleaded. "I will be the one forced the bury you and to tell your family; I might have to tell them you died because I didn't bless you."

"Leave my body where it falls to rot then, for I have no family to tell." He snarled, and swept out of the church.

After a pause, Jarlaxle turned to Peter. "I apologize for my companion. He is quite hostile even at the best of times; but he has a special dislike for anything religious."

"I noticed." He said wryly.

Jarlaxle accepted the priest's blessing, going with the old 'better safe than sorry' though even as the drops of holy water sprinkled his brow, he doubted either the rocks or blessing would serve any purpose. Judas didn't accept the blessing either, leaving the church almost the same time as Entreri to get supplies.

* * *

*Asklepios, or Asclepius, was the Greek god of medicine and the founder of the Greek doctor's guild. He is depicted as a kindly, bearded man holding a staff twined with serpents, which has become the modern symbol of medicine.


	3. Into the Lions mouth

They continued on the next day, leaving earlier than Jarlaxle had planned (or wanted to) because Judas had been extremely impatient. Although, Jarlaxle had little problem agreeing with the man; now that the townsfolk were over their shock, the air was heavy with menace. They were frustrated and enraged with what was happening to their friends and relatives in Perth, and were liable to take it out on anyone. They walked out of the town, all except for Judas, who rode on an old nag. A donkey trailed behind them all, weighed down with Judas' supplies. Jarlaxle carried nothing; he had enough supplies stuffed into his magically concealed bottomless pits about his person to feed an army if he so wished. Entreri was only weighed down with the bare essentials in a small pack on his shoulders.

It wasn't long before they reached the place the priest had described. There was a pile of rocks in the middle of the road, and a sign stuck in it with both a warning and holy symbol crudely painted onto it. Further off, he could see the holy sign hacked into the trunks of trees at regular intervals, about ten feet apart until they disappeared in the distance.

"Let's go." Judas grunted impatiently.

They crossed the line; Jarlaxle half-expecting a sensation of crossing a barrier, but felt nothing. Jarlaxle was not all the disappointed, he hadn't really expected the priest's line of blessings to be a true one; if it had he would at least felt a faint tingle as he crossed it. Still they plodded on.

"What are your senses picking up on Judas?" Jarlaxle queried, as much a stab at gathering information as being social to the man.

He grunted, then drudged up the energy to give a real reply. "Nothin'. No magic here."

"Just as well." He shrugged, and then took another stab at it. "What do you know about the area?"

At first, the man didn't reply. Then he straightened up an actually looked the drow in the eye.

"The town is in a small valley; about two days walk long and only a half-day walk wide." He rattled off. "Soil is rich and loamy, good for farming; better for wine. That's their main export; made them pretty damn rich for such a small town."

Jarlaxle blinked rapidly. Apparently, he'd stumbled on the right question to get the uncommunicative man to talk. "What important features are in the surrounding area? Hidden areas; spots where people could hide?" He wasn't convinced by the priest that something supernatural was the only thing at work here; bandits could be just as effective as spells.

"None that the locals know. None that out-of-town troublemakers would know." By that Jarlaxle supposed he meant bandits. He was quiet for a while.

"But there is."

Jarlaxle looked up at him; but the man was slumped in his saddle again, that hostile look back on his face. He knew the man wouldn't talk any more.

* * *

The town was nothing short of an anti-climax.

Perth was as normal as normal could be; the people milling around in the well-paved streets stopped to stare at them-well, Jarlaxle, at least-like so many other slack-jawed idiots that they'd met in towns like these. They always stared; usually just before dragging out the torches and pitchforks.

But they wouldn't, not today. Entreri had been pleasantly surprised that Judas had come in like the Calvary; snarling that Jarlaxle _would _do as Entreri said and wear the goddamn mask so he could be a white-skinned elf. He would still be as queer-looking as a three-pound-note, but at least a species of elf that wouldn't get them turned out of town. Entreri liked Judas; as much as a man like him could like anyone. The image of Jarlaxle's normal shit-eating grin turning into a grimace of disgust when the man had snarled inches from his face; spittle getting flecked onto the black skin and breath like rotten meat misting into his face...was priceless.

He'd treasure the scene always.

The scenario was similar to the other town. They breezed their way past the townsfolk and into the cutesy, syrupy 'bed-and-breakfast' and got their rooms. Entreri grimaced at the doilies on the couches in the lobby.

"This is _nice._" Jarlaxle said sincerely. He could see precious china in the display cabinet; real silver candlesticks. "I believe this is one of the nicest inns we've stayed in on the road."

"Pink." Entreri snarled in the direction of the satiny couches.

Jarlaxle considered. "No, it's more of a Salmon."

Entreri gave him a baffled look.

"It's a color. A shade of pink."

"It's a fish." He said, wondering if Jarlaxle had such a good grasp on common as he seemed.

"You need to expand your vocabulary." He sniffed.

"You need to learn the difference between a species of fish and color shades."

Jarlaxle nearly made a reply; but decided not to. First Judas, now Entreri; did he have no one left that respected him? He'd best stop this before it got any worse or Entreri would pick on him all day, and he'd soon be drawn into a verbal tit-for-tat contest.

The owner decided at that moment to waddle up out of nowhere.

'Pink' was the first think that came to their minds (or salmon). Next was 'unnecessarily frilly'. The last was two words because of the shear amount of ruffles and lace that completely covered every square inch.

'My god she's fat' only came too Entreri because Jarlaxle was too polite.

Her doughy face squished into a smile at the sight of Jarlaxle. "Law, aren't you a character!"

He did one of his trademark flamboyant bows and she nearly squealed with delight. "Oh, It'll be a treat having you here; I just _love_ your clothes."

He stroked the brim of his hat, flattered. The only comments he usually got on his clothes was Entreri asking if he was colorblind.

"Thank you my dear." He crooned. "I do like the best fashions."

"I can tell!" She said happily, piggish eyes twinkling as she eyed his vest. "Authentic silk, I take it."

"Spider silk, specifically." He sighed theatrically. "Regular silk isn't nearly as fine."

"Oh my! I've always wanted to get my hands on some, but it's just the most elusive thing..."

"I have my own private supplier."

Entreri shuddered and withdrew from the both of them. _For the love of... I couldn't believe that there could possibly be another like him. How wrong I was. _

Thankfully, Judas stepped in. His made a beeline for them both, upper lip curled like always; the owner frowned her displeasure at the mud tracking from his boots. The giggly, sugary mood they had been setting with their fashion talk evaporated in the hot, stinking wind that was the old mage.

Entreri couldn't be happier to see him.

The owner huffed and pattered away, and as soon as the man reached them he hissed. "We have work to do; no time to waste on frivolities."

"But we haven't even unpacked." _Or eaten, or bathed or-_

"Later." He snapped. He whirled around and marched off, clearly going whether they were coming or not. He turned to Entreri but found no support there.

"Work to be done." He said smugly.

Jarlaxle mentally threw his hands up in frustration, and followed behind.


	4. The Den of Humanity

Again they set off, Jarlaxle lingering in the back. Judas strode ahead with quick, long strides. He bullied his way through everything; he broke apart crowds and made wagon stop in their tracks, following his course with a single-minded intensity. Entreri followed close behind, letting the irritable mage force a path for him through the crowd. Jarlaxle, because he had lagged behind, caught all the irritation and had to slog his way through the snarls of people that the mage left in his wake. He huffed and struggled to catch up with the rapidly disappearing mage.

"Where's the fire?" he muttered sarcastically.

They were soon out of town, and heading rapidly for one of the gently sloping valley walls. With the man's furious pace they made it in little over an hour. Entreri was a little concerned for the old man. He was obviously out of breath, but that didn't slow him down in the least. Resting only for a moment-eyes darting birdlike over the scene-he immediately started up the rock pile. The going was steep and treacherous, and Entreri stayed close by the man, keeping an eye on him.

"Where are we headed, my good friend?" Jarlaxle asked, striding effortlessly over the stones.

"Cave." He huffed.

_A hidden cave?_ Jarlaxle grinned. Now they were getting somewhere.

They made it to a round hole in the rocky face of the landslide, gaping like a small mouth in the rocks. The mage stopped and looked it over, gradually getting his breath back.

"Rockslide happened a few years ago." He said. "Cave mouth was bigger; big clearing in front. Bramble and thorn trees kept people away. Found by accident."

"People could hide here?" Entreri hissed pointedly. He wished the mage would be quieter: if there was anyone in there they could easily hear them.

"Yes." He gave Entreri a condescending look. "I'm not stupid. This is a long tunnel; then there is a series of small chambers. The big one is too far back for anyone to hear us."

"Trapped, most likely." Jarlaxle fanned himself with his hat, looking over the entrance thoughtfully.

Judas nodded. "I have spells for disabling magic traps. You two?"

"I am skilled at disabling non-magical traps." Entreri stated.

"I have equipment for detecting both magical and non-magical traps."

"Detecting. Good." Judas smiled nastily. "Up front."

* * *

Jarlaxle waded in front of them, frequently brushing cobwebs out of the way. They went along with no light, the mage having cast a spell on his sight to see, and Entreri used his newly-gained shade vision. However, they all knew it was Jarlaxle that could see the best; his natural heat vision and being so at home in such an environment made him their best chance at detecting other people in the absolute darkness.

The air in the cave was damp and cold, and it smelled of staleness and mildew, like an old cellar. It was also cramped. The few small chambers that it opened up to were no bigger than a large closet, and the floor was lumpy and uneven. The tunnel wasn't very tall, forcing them to partially crouch, the rough ceiling scraping their backs. Other tunnels branched off from the original; most just narrow slots too small for even a child to squeeze through.

Jarlaxle wondered how extensive the cave system was. If it connected to the underdark, there might be a host of creatures waiting to kill them, not to mention the hostile, intelligent races. For all he knew it could be his own race that was making the villagers disappear; humans made intelligent, useful slaves. He paused, instinctively sensing an open space around the bend. He signaled to Entreri to stay, and went on ahead. Mercifully the mage picked up on the intent of the sign even if he didn't understand the meaning, and silently crouched, watching the drow move off.

He dipped the brim of his hat, and a wave of cold washed over him, shielding him from infrared vision. Then, he cautiously moved out into the entrance of the space, surveying the room.

It was a _big _chamber. Easily big enough to fit a city block with room to spare: and while it was peppered with stalactites and stalagmites it was mostly flat and open. He scanned the room, combing it for any sign of other people, noting the numerous tunnels that led off from the main chamber. While there may be an ambush or two down them, the main chamber was clear. He made a round and found no traps, and came back to the two of them.

"No traps, no people." He whispered, keeping his voice as low as possible; sound echoed in caves. He would have preferred to use hand signals, but he needed the mage's input. "What about the other chambers?"

"Small." Judas whispered back. "Family-sized rooms."

"How far underground does it go?"

"Wide, not deep. Parallel to the surface: spreads out under about half of the valley."

"Anymore opening to the surface?"

"None. Used to be."

"What about to the underdark?"

"Not deep enough."

Jarlaxle nodded: this seemed solid. Likely they would have to comb the cave system to root out any problems, but it seemed to him that people hadn't been here in a very long time: it had an unused, deserted feeling. Still, there were signs of people here; but he could have sworn some of the stalagmites had been removed; the too-flat stumps of them low to the ground like the stumps of cut trees. Some of them looked like they had been caved with primitive tools. Infravision was terrible for seeing details in anything that wasn't lit up with heat, and while the caves of his homeland constantly glowed with heat from the magma that flowed everywhere, these caves had very little warmth, making them dark and featureless.

"Have there been people here before?"

A strange look; almost eager, came into the man's face. He had a feeling the he'd asked Judas one of those questions that got the monosyllable human talking.

"Yes."

* * *

Neither of them was sure of this, but the mage had insisted. The were-light floated about them, casting a dull yellow glow. A small flock of bats fluttered about, confused and annoyed by the light; managing to nip them all once or twice in revenge. Entreri snarled; swiping out at them, and cut down at least five before the chittering things swooped away.

"Make this sightseeing trip quick." He snapped.

He immediately went to the largest stalagmite that was in the middle of the room. The light buzzed about the limestone column, finally showing them what Judas was so excited about.

The stone had been painstakingly carved; hacked into fantastic stylized plants and animals in shallow relief; washed out color showed that it had been painted in natural hues of brown, black, green, and yellow. A few of the animals were ones they recognized-a bull, deer, wolves-but others looked familiar but strange, like a bobcat with far too long fangs.*

The mage led them to one of the walls, and here were more paintings; with even more of the odd animals among the normal ones. There were herds of animals that looked like unicorns, with their spiraling horns, but they had bizarre arched muzzles and pig-like snouts. Also there were creatures Entreri was sure shouldn't be here; like lions and hyenas, and some very hairy rhinoceros and elephants. ** He'd seen them in some rich pasha's zoo once, and they were supposed to live in southern regions near his own city, on hot, arid grasslands. Not here, in a place covered in pine trees and had snow on the ground for more than half the year.

The paintings also showed scenes of life; stick figure hunters pursuing a bull, people carrying baskets of gathered food. And everywhere the silhouettes of human hands; the outlines drawn in charcoal.

"How old is this?" Entreri asked.

* * *

I'm pretty much biasing the animals on Pleistocene-era north America. For the paintings, the best example of what they looked like is the ones in Lascaux, France.

*Smilodon Fatalis; the infamous sabertooth tiger.

**That strange animal is a saiga antelope; still alive in Mongolia today, but extinct in America. Their also used to be the American version of hyenas, lions, cheetahs, etc. living alongside the woolly mammoth and woolly rhinoceros, before they died out with the rest of the big animals.


	5. Remains of Monster's Meals

"Likely fifteen to twenty thousand years old." He murmured. Jarlaxle nodded, finally understanding.

"This is your area of study, isn't it? You are a historian, studying ancient people and their culture."

"I am like a historian; but I don't study written history. I study history that happened before the written word was invented." He paused. "My title is archeologist."

"So this is quite a find for you." He murmured. Jarlaxle knew nothing about this subject, but he could recognize why Judas was enamored with it. Even he could appreciate the work. Although primitive, it was beautiful in its own way. "How do you know how old it is?"

"I know how to look." He grunted; then looked at him out of the corner of his eye, faintly amused. "I'm also a mage; spells help."

"Of course." He smiled. "Will you do us the honor of giving us the grand tour then? To root out any more _recent_ live-ins as we go."

Judas nodded, pulling himself away from the wall and extinguishing his were-light. Entreri followed along, barely giving the paintings a second glance; he had little for them and couldn't care less if the important or beautiful.

Again Jarlaxle was in the lead as the descended, going down the gentle slope of the tunnels. Eventually down one of the paths they came to a dead end instead of circling back to the main cavern. It was clocked off by rubble.

"Cave in." Entreri muttered.

Judas nodded. "Been blocked off long before I came."

Jarlaxle frowned. He looked at the pole with a critical eye; he _knew_ stone and caves; had been born in them and so had his ancestors for hundreds of years. At this point geology was an instinct bred into him. Right now, instinct was telling him that 'cave in' wasn't right.

"The stones are too regular." He said. "And the stone feels to stable to just give way."

Judas gave him a curious look. "What _does_ it feel like?"

"Artificial." He murmured. "These were put here; but a very long time ago. The stones have settled."

He went up to the stones and gently set his hands on the pile, almost sniffing the air like a curious animal. He felt the faint current of stale air trickling between the stones. "It's not very thick; theirs an open space beyond. Likely another room."

Judas leaned forward eagerly. An unexplored cavern had so much potential; it had been sheltered from man and beast alike for thousands of years. Perhaps there were remnants of the people who had lived here; like stone tools or even human remains. He bustled up to him, looking at the seemingly impenetrable stones; astonished that he'd been convince all these years that their was nothing beyond them.

"Could we remove them?" He said.

"Yes. Of course, it would be no easy task, but I believe you could hire a few young me to excavate from the village."

He danced on the spot irritably. "No; not from the village. It would bring the rest of them to gawp and poke about and _ruin _the caves with their greasy paws fumbling over everything." He shook his head, lip curled in disgust. "I have kept this place safe from the bumbling idiots and I intent to keep it that way."

Entreri scowled. "I have no intent of digging around in rock piles old man. I doubt our troublemakers are behind that wall; it hasn't been disturbed."

They glared at each other; a fearsome task because the assassin was the master of murderous looks. Even so, the mage was formidable; at his age he'd stopped caring about death and the aggression in the man's eyes held no fear for him. It was the mage that broke eye contact, however, but that was only to snap at Jarlaxle.

"Get away from the wall drow." He snarled.

As soon as he moved Judas whipped out a small bag of metallic dust. He threw a pinch at the pile and yelled a few short, guttural words. The rocks gently shifted and moved about, forming neat, low piles against the walls of the tunnel, leaving the middle clear.

"Was that dwarvish?" Jarlaxle asked.

He nodded jerkily. "Learned some spells from dwarves. Good for digging spots without damaging what you're looking for."

They continued on, squeezing past the stones. The path sloped steeply downward, and the air became colder, eddies swirling around their ankles. It was a long twisting corridor before he came to the chamber that Jarlaxle had predicted. Looking in they could see why the tunnel had been sealed off.

Bones. Dozens of them.

Judas recalled the were-light, and the bones gleamed a sickly, dark yellow. They were strewn across the rough pebbly floor, in an uneven circle that ringed a clear space in the floor. The clear spot was free of rubble and bones, except for a single skull; a canine.

"_Canis direus_." Judas murmured.

"What's that?" Jarlaxle gave the mage a puzzled look.

"Dire wolf." He quickly swept the area for magical influence that might denote a trap, then carefully stepped over the bones towards the center. "Extinct relative of today's _canius lupus_, or grey wolf. Stubbier legs, more powerful jaws. Built for power, not speed. Went after bigger prey; died out when they did. Gone for 10,000 years."

Jarlaxle picked his way over to the mage and examined the skull. "Their god, I suppose?"

"No. No gods then." He grunted. "No 'merciful goddess Mona or Moness of light wife of Gorny' or what have you. Just...spirits."

Jarlaxle looked at him curiously.

"Gods now have stories. They are born; they marry, are betrayed, seduce mortals, make war amongst themselves." He squatted down next to the skull. "Spirits just...are. They make you sick, they make you lucky on the hunt they push the sun up at dawn and bring down the moon. They don't have names, or defined form."

"Then...do they worship these spirits?"

"No...not worship." He said, trying to explain. "They have rituals and superstitions that are designed to banish bad spirits and lure in good ones; and ones to keep the spirits happy. They do not worship them, like we do gods now."

"What is the significance of the skull then?" He started to rub his hands together to keep them warm in the frigid chill of the room. He was curious about this though, despite the cold.

"Each member has an animal spirit, or 'totem' they draw strength from, but the dire wolf is the totem of the entire clan. It acts as representative for them to the spirit world."

"I'm assuming this totem also carries them to the spirit world when they die; seeing as this place looks like a burial chamber."

"Yes; he is supposed to protect them as they cross over."

Entreri huffed irritably from the entrance. "Fascinating, I'm sure."

Jarlaxle chuckled. He could see the assassin was eager to be gone, back on the trail of the source of the disappearances. "Judas, are there any more places within the cave system that we haven't explored?"

He shook his head, shooting Entreri a dirty look.

"Then perhaps it is time we left then." He smiled. "We have a mystery to solve after all. I'm sure you could examine this later; I wouldn't mind accompanying you."

Stepping lightly over the bones, Judas accidentally managed to dislodge one of the skulls. It rolled a short distance, knocking against Jarlaxle ankle. He bent to gently pick it up, placing it back in its spot. Looking at the myriad of bones more closely, he noticed something.

"A great deal of these bones are children."

"Children only had a small chance of living to adulthood." He explained. "Killed by disease, most of them."

Jarlaxle rolled the skull in his hands and saw the deep cracks in the skull; typical signs of blunt violence. He frowned frowned slightly, and thought; _Not all of them._


	6. Bad Dreams

Two days later, they still hadn't found any other clues. Entreri regularly patrolled the surrounding areas, looking for suspicious activity, while Jarlaxle walked about the town questioning the local townsfolk. Judas poked around in the caves, accompanied by Jarlaxle, and besides learning quite a bit about ancient history, it was a fruitless expenditure. They still sat regularly at meals in the tavern, except for Judas, who'd walked right back out after seeing the prices, saying that he would rather eat hardtack biscuits than pay such prices.

The drow rubbed his hands eagerly. "I'm _famished_. I'm truly looking forward to eating a delicious dinner."

Entreri shrugged. He was just as hungry; but he could care less what the food was, so long as there was plenty of it.

"Oh come now." Jarlaxle smiled at him. "Surely even you must have a preference, a favorite food. What is it?"

He paused, considering. "...Curry. Goat curry."

The mercenary leaned back. "That horribly spicy monstrosity?"

He grinned nastily. "The hotter the better."

Jarlaxle grimaced. "Machosist."

He smirked.

The food came in them; fish for Jarlaxle, a goodly slice of ham for Entreri, and all the fixings. They immediately dug in; Jarlaxle thoroughly enjoying himself, until _the smell_ hit him.

He jerked back, teeth clenched around his bite of flaky fish. Entreri gave him a curious look.

"Do you smell that?"

He gave an experimental sniff. "What?"

It washed against his nostrils again, and Jarlaxle gagged slightly. It was a thick smell, low and greasy. It was raw meat and sweat; blood and offal. It smelled rotten and spoiled. Entreri kept eating, looking at him inquisitively, and suddenly he couldn't stand it. The sound of his teeth chewing the meat was revolting, the clatter of a knife against the plate was needling him, even the sound of him _swallowing_ was far too loud. The noise of the other patrons-the chewing, slurping, grinding-it was just too much. It pressed on him; filled him with a sudden unreasonable disgust and hatred that roiled blackly in his stomach.

"I am suddenly ill, my friend." He said, standing. He dropped a few coins on the table.  
"I will see you later at the inn."

He hurried out the door, and instantly he felt better breathing in the fresh air, though still a little nauseous. On the way back he frowned in thought as he went over the sudden feelings that had come over him in the tavern, wondering why he had felt such extreme, out-of-place emotions just sitting down at a meal.

Entreri still sat there, idly chewing at his meal, thoughts churning over in his head. Jarlaxle _had_ looked sick; but he doubted it was poison. He had enough magical amulets to protect him from virtually anything; and Entreri was sure he had at least one trinket to protect himself from such things. He wondered if the drow was ill; did drow _get_ sick? Surface elves where highly resistant to disease and poison, but drow were so different from their cousins. He may have spent time down in the underdark, but he still knew very little about them.

He finally finished his meal. It had indeed been delicious and he would definitely order it again the next time. For now however, he felt it was time for rest.

* * *

_The gold coins clacked against each other when the hit his father's palm._

_Mother was being led into the back now by the man with the coins; the man that stank of fetid water. She would again make those painful noises, the screams and cries, for the hungry shadowmen; the strangers that came into the house with pale, pasty faces and cracked lips that they always licked. They had crooked teeth and sunken eyes; they smelled of sweat and raw meat, offal and blood. Usually they jeered at him; asking if he'd like to 'watch the show' accusing him of peeking through the cracks to see them arch and snort like fat, grunting pigs._

_The soft ones though, that crooned to him, where the truly frightening ones. Their smiles held a feverish, secret glimmer to them that was terrifying. He'd been forced to hide in the cupboard, sometimes, while they tried to seek him out, convinced that his mother was not the only whore available in the house. He wondered if his mother would always be able the steer them away from him; of if he would someday find out what that look really meant._

-Gritty shadows swimming over cracked plaster on the walls-

_He'd once snuck in, to ask 'mommy are you all right' because the noises had scared him; he'd thought she was dying. The shadowman had yelped like a dog and jumped off her; snarling obscenities. It was the first time she had slapped him then; and he'd been shoved out of the room. Just before she'd slammed the door in his face, she'd screamed 'I should have never had you!' She'd never done that before; she'd loved him. But now she was screaming._

IhateherIhateherIhateherIhat eherIhateher

_The sounds were starting. He tried not to whimper; his father might hear and stomp over to his room. And then, the beatings. Usually with his belt, but sometimes with his fists. The belts would leave bruises and welts, but the meaty fists left deep aches in his muscles and bones._

-Quiet boy; mommy's working. She's working **hard** oh yes she is-

_He put his fingers in his ears; squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't block out the sounds._

Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitst opmakeitstopmakeitstopmakeit stopmakeitstop

_The screams were loud, so loud this time and the high pitch knifed right through the walls. There was thudding and shaking; like their lust was tearing the room apart, tearing the __**house**__ apart and now he was terrified because he was sure now the shadowman was killing mother. He ran out of his room and the saw his father slumped in his usual drunken stupor on the couch. He went up to him, daring to risk the beating of his life to wake him and save mother._

men and pigs scream the same when slaughtered

_But his head lolled around on his shoulders when he shook him, showing the gash across his throat that gaped like a grinning mouth; red like his mothers lipstain, soaked into his filthy shirt. Coins slithered out of his bloody mouth, clanking and clattering against the teeth and dripping heavily onto the cushions._

pick up a coin boy, have a spin

_And here __**it**__ was, moving heavy-footed over the creaking floorboards, feet slapping wetly. It was lumpy and malformed like an aborted fetus; long spidery legs and arms, with a bloated torso. The head was flat, the forehead caved in, the face pulled out like soft taffy. Its twisted, hairy head turned to look at himhim__**him**__ and now he could see its face. He could see the piggy black-bead eyes, that long dog-like muzzle...it's long tongue lolled out when it saw him, foam and saliva dangling in loops under its jaw, streaked pink with blood. _


	7. A New Lead

When he woke it was to a scream clawing in his throat.

He bit into his arm to silence it, because he knew if he started he wouldn't he able to stop for a very, very long time. His stomach roiled and he was shaking; skin slicked with sweat, body curled tightly in on itself, every muscle clenched. Suddenly the nausea coiling in his belly reached a tipping point and he was forced to scramble for the washbasin, emptying what little was left of last night's dinner. He gasped, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked into the mirror.

The self-inflicted bite stood out redly from the skin, but otherwise he looked...healthy. He didn't looked pale and there were no shadows under his eyes; he didn't _look_ sick. With the mark hidden under clothing, no one would guess at his momentary weakness.

_Just a dream_

He cleaned the basin, dumping the contents into the chamberpot; and briefly washed his face and neck. Patting himself dry, he looked again at the mirror. Yes, he looked fine; he felt perfectly alright now. Perhaps the food hadn't agreed with him for some reason; the cause of his dream and sickness. He never had dreams of any kind, much less nightmares; so it was likely a one-time fluke. The memories of the dream were already fading; so his immediately suppressed any lingering feeling with hid finely-honed self control and got ready for the day, ignoring the deep, lingering ache of sickness that refused to fade.

* * *

He set out for the tavern, already starving. Of course, as soon as he set foot into it Jarlaxle waved him over. Sometimes he wondered how the drow had lived before traveling with him; he was a constant presence at the assassin's side, never leaving him for a moment, like some symbiotic parasite. A day may come when he'd have to peel the drow off with a crowbar.

"You're up early." He said. Usually the drow like to sleep in.

"Judas insisted last night that we start in the early morning; so as to avoid the curious." He gestured at the steaming platter of scrambled eggs. "I ordered for you."

Entreri snorted in amusement as he sat down to eat. "I don't think that's possible. Not with you."

He'd barely begun to eat when Judas himself stormed in, aiming straight for them. He was puffing and blowing and the barkeeper gave him a concerned look.

"Found something." He gasped out. "Eat quick; this is important. Meet you outside."

He went back out, leaving them to give each other puzzled looks.

They followed behind the old man, accompanied by the stub-legged donkey. She carried a large bag that clanked and clattered as she moved and Entreri assumed that it was full of spell components.

"Quickly, quickly." He muttered. "Before gawkers come and destroy everything."

They pushed through thick underbrush, and reached a small depression. Inside the brush had been cleared, the ground stripped. People had been here all right, scraping the ground feverishly in their search. Apparently they had found something.

"I knew that this was a center of activity for cro-magnom." Judas said. Jarlaxle gave him a puzzled look; they assumed that he meant the people who'd lived in the caves. "I've found tools, firepits, and burnt animal bones. I always assumed this was just a summer camp...but it's something else."

He padded over to the exposed find. "It's a ceremonial site."

It was a simple circle of stones, vaguely shaped into large rectangles. There were eight of them in a circle no more than ten feet across; and none of them came any higher than his knee.

Judas circled the stones thoughtfully. "These were used for ceremonies and rituals?"

"Very important." He grunted. "Also practical; the sun, stars, moon; all these line up with the stones."

"And how is that practical?" Entreri snorted.

"Acts like a calendar. Keeps track of time." He looked over the sited carefully. "Tell them when they should stock up for winter, how many days they left, when certain plants are ready to gather, the time a migrating herd of game comes through. Very useful."

Entreri stood at the edge of the circle, and looked carefully at them. He couldn't see how the simple structure could do anything like that. But he supposed the mage/archeologist knew what he was doing because he'd already dug a measuring tape and sextant out of his bag and was making calculations.

"What are you doing?" Entreri asked, getting interested despite himself.

"Finding what they were keeping track of." He grunted. "I'm finding out what celestial events happened recently in their calendars, or what will be happening."

"And what will this tell us?" Jarlaxle felt a bit lost on this; he usually dealt with more physical things; like calculating the financial expenditures of his mercenary band. On the other hand he was glad the man was opening up; he seemed a much more manageable person when he was around these ancient remains.

"Perhaps it will give a clue to what they wanted to use this site for." He murmured, then looked up at Jarlaxle. "Can you detect magic with one of those trinkets?"

"Yes." He quickly activated a brooch of his. "Their has been magic preformed here, and recently. Perhaps a few months ago."

"The same time the villagers started to disappear." Entreri added.

Jarlaxle nodded. "We are on the trail of someone; perhaps this spell was the beginning. Judas what events were happening around that time?"

He grunted. "The convergence of heregus and labados, and eclipse, and the first day of spring; though I don't think this structure was calculated to observe any of the those but the last one."

_The first day of spring sounds so...harmless_. Entreri gave the structure a puzzle look. _Disappearances aren't something that you would associate with spring._

"Is that all?" Entreri asked.

He nodded. "This calendar is built for consistent, yearly events. The convergence and the eclipse is something that happens once every few hundred years."

"In their culture, what does the first day of spring signify?"

"Other than the beginning of green growth and newborn game?" He shrugged. "Not sure. Spring is so symbolically ties up with other things-rebirth, fertility. Take your pick."

He started to walk around the circle very slowly, his mouth narrowing into a grim line. "One thing worries me."

"What is that?" Jarlaxle stepped forward, intrigued.

"These ancient ceremonies had many components." He paused. "Including sacrifice."


End file.
